“My lord, you are the dream of every lady in the One Land,” she said. “How I wish I could put aside my devotion to Thermad and the One God! Then I could forget my marriage vows and follow my heart.”
Nehemus sighed again.
“Your piety only adds to your allure, my dear. I wish that Jagus would recognize what a prize he has in you.”
Kitara looked down at her feet modestly, drawing another sigh from Nehemus.
“I trust I can leave the arrangements for the ball in your hands,” he said.
ZAIBENE HELD THE embossed parchment reverentially in both hands.
“‘Cheval Trianus va Alsor and Cheval Jagus va Alsor together with their wives cordially invite Collector Mantan Yandharan, Mistress Zaibene va Alsor Yandharan and their guests to the Anniversary Ball to celebrate Nehemus va Alsor’s twenty five glorious years as Baron of Tirut,’ ” she read slowly, savoring every word. “The list of invitees is very select. I have asked several of the wealthier merchant wives—very indirectly, of course. None of them has been invited. Clearly this ball is limited to best families. I hear that nobility are coming from all over Briga. ”
“Those that can make it here at this short notice,” agreed Yandharan. “Once again, I find myself elevated by your noble connections. I doubt whether Cheval Trianus and Cheval Jagus would have invited me if I were not married to their cousin.”
“This is so incredible!” she exclaimed, too happy to boast anew about the superiority of her connections. “None of us heard even the slightest rumor before it was formally announced.”
“Perhaps they wished to surprise the baron.”
“Yes, yes, that must be it. I must go shopping! I must have a new ensemble—a gown, shoes, and scarf. Nothing in my wardrobe is good enough for such a grand ball. And I must see the jeweler for some new earrings. You must guarantee my credit.”
“Of course, my dear,” he said, sighing inwardly. He knew that Zaibene’s shopping spree would be costly. She had inherited exalted connections and expensive tastes, but her own family had only modest means. She had brought no property to the marriage and only a small dowry. He made a mental note to sell some of his personal property and make a deposit with his goldsmith to cover her spending.
ESME LOOKED AROUND the richly appointed chamber in Tirut Castle, trying to conceal her irritation. She looked out of the wide window, trying to calm herself with the wonderful view of the harbor. It had already been a very long day and she was tired and tempted to lean back in her chair. But she fought the urge and maintained her ramrod straight posture, as befitted her status as queen. She wore a steel cuirass with gold trim over a tunic of soft chamois leather and leather breeches. A short sword hung on her belt. A black scarf of watered silk and a black armband made of soft velvet were prominent symbols of her mourning.
“Your Majesty, I can only advise, but I do so most vehemently,” said Nehemus, smiling affably. “Campaigning, battles, and fighting are best left to the professional soldiers. As the recently widowed Queen of Briga, I understand that you wish to take the king’s place at the head of the army. But consider that you are a young woman with no experience of war. Let my son Jagus lead our forces to retake Serat. It is his ancestral fief and his responsibility to fight for it.”
“I am sorry, Baron, but my mind is made up,” said Esme. “We march a few days after your Anniversary Ball, so I am disappointed that you do not see fit to personally lead your Kriggen Regiment and ride by my side. I see it as our responsibility to retake what is mine.” She paused here to look at him with a challenge in her eyes, but he did not contradict her. “Where is your son?”
Almost on cue, Jagus entered with Kitara on his arm. Jagus bowed low and Kitara dropped a deep curtsey with a great show of deference.
“Majesty!” she said as she rose. “What an inspiration you are to us, dressed in such warlike attire!”
Esme looked from Nehemus to Kitara. She instinctively recognized the look that jumped into his eyes on his daughter-in-law’s entrance. She glanced at Jagus, dressed like her in light armor and saw that he was quite oblivious.
“Pray sit down and join us, Cheval Jagus, Chevalina Kitara,” said Esme. “We are pleased to see you.”
Kitara took a seat and rang the bell. A steward hastened in and she asked for some refreshment. He left and returned with servers who rapidly laid out decanters of a very fine Mussadec wine and a selection of tempting hors d’oeuvres. They chatted about neutral topics till the staff left the chamber.
Nehemus cleared his throat and began in a serious tone, “Your Majesty, as you go off to war, I ask you to consider the future of the realm. It is far too heavy a burden for a beautiful young woman to bear alone. I ask that you consider taking a consort—one who can discharge the more onerous and inconsequential tasks that you perforce must do at the moment. Of course, any nuptial formalities must wait till you are out of mourning.”
Esme looked at him and a ghost of her old vivacity played on her face.
“My dear baron! I am touched by your loyalty. To offer yourself and your riches to a poor widow!”
Nehemus looked horrified, as he realized too late how his words must sound to her.
“Oh no, Your Majesty!” He rose from his seat and kneeled. “I am not so bold as to press my own suit. I was thinking of other more suitable—”
“Why not, sir?” She gestured about her at the sumptuous furnishings of the chamber. “You are the richest man in the One Land and can aspire to the hand of anyone you choose. But perhaps you find me wanting?”
“No, no, Your Highness—” Nehemus stammered. “The truth is…the truth is…” His mind went blank and when she did not intercede to help him, he plunged on without thinking. “My heart is given to another.”
Esme laughed. She knew he would like nothing better than to change the subject and bring up the name of the relative or ally that he hoped to betroth her to. But she was having far too much fun to oblige him.
“Come, come, sir. We high aristocrats know that love has nothing to do with marriage.”
Nehemus took a deep breath and began to recover his wits. Still on his knees he said, “Ma’am, I am a simple baron, too far below you in rank to merit your consideration.”
Esme laughed again, feeling genuine mirth for the first time in a long while. I wish Harald were here to see me, she thought.
“That is easily remedied. I can raise you to archbaron. I could even create you the Duke of the Southern Marches.”
Jagus watched their exchange tongue-tied, but Kitara was not overawed. She had served Esme as a lady-in-waiting and knew her mistress’s playful ways.
“As usual, ma’am, you delight in toying with us,” she said. “But it does not behoove you to give my father-in-law false hopes.”
Esme looked over at Kitara and beckoned her with a slight movement of her hand. Kitara came over and followed Nehemus’s example, kneeling in front of Esme’s chair. The queen put a hand on her cheek.
“As fair as ever, Chevalina Kitara,” she said. “And just as sharp as you always were. You know me too well. We had such fun together, didn’t we?”
“It was Your Majesty’s indulgence,” said Kitara.
“Well, let us put your father-in-law out of his misery. Baron Nehemus, I will not steal you away from your secret love. I hope she realizes how lucky she is. For in addition to being the richest, you are doubtless the fittest of my barons and the scourge of our enemies.”
She rose. Both Nehemus and Kitara felt the sting of her last words.
LIKE MOST BARBARIAN coastal strongholds, Tirut Castle was built on a rocky headland that jutted into the sea. It dominated the city that was crowded around Half Moon Bay and centered on the harbor. The Baron of Tirut’s colorful banners, emblazoned with his coat of arms of entwined sea serpents, streamed from all the towers. There were dozens of men-at-arms pacing the battlements in the bright uniforms of his Color Guard. Every eye in the castle was now on the Zon airboat that was just shutti
ng down her engines and putting out sky anchors.
Diana lay back in the comfortable cushions of a club chair in the airboat, looking out at the castle below. The airboat was crewed by a squad of armed Guardians in dress uniforms, but Diana herself was dressed in a long gown of local Tirutan cami-silk. The only elements of her uniform that she wore were the metal choker and wrist bracers engraved with the crossed swords of her rank. Her pale, flaxen hair was piled atop her head in the most elegant coiffure that the part-time beautician in the Tirut Guilt fort could manage. A white-gold armband fashioned like a coiled lasso and silver high-heeled slippers completed her outfit.
“I must voice my concern once again, Cornelle,” said the squad seignora. “You have innumerable enemies down there in the castle. To go among them alone and unarmed is madness. Please allow us to escort you.”
Diana stood up and stretched lazily.
“Tirut has always been more interested in money than war,” she said. “The Straits of Gold pour such wealth into the city that they would never jeopardize it by doing me harm and bringing on Zon retribution. But I will take two Guardians with me in the pod for ceremonial purposes. And you may deploy the heavy ’grator to remind them that this airboat can destroy the castle.”
Climbing into the pod, Diana settled herself into the plush passenger seat. Looking down out of the clear floor panels, she saw the honor guard drawn up to receive her. Her critical eye took in their shining helmets, burnished breastplates, and polished pikes.
Two Guardians climbed aboard the pod after her. One strapped herself into the pilot’s seat, and the hatch hissed shut. The pod’s small engine whined to life, the restraining clamps were released and they spiraled down to the castle courtyard, landing in a cloud of dust. As the ramp extended, the two Guardians emerged and took up positions on either side of it. They handed Diana down.
Tall and erect, she walked up to meet Jagus and Kitara, who came up through the lined honor guard to receive her. Jagus was dressed in a ceremonial military uniform, and Kitara wore a fine gown and expensive jewelry as befitted her status. They bowed to her, and Diana nodded rather than reciprocating. Who does she think she is? thought Kitara. She is not the Queen Empress. The three of them inspected the honor guard.
“Very well turned out,” commented Diana. “My congratulations.”
“Our Kriggen Regiment always does us proud,” said Jagus. “Please allow us to escort you into the ballroom.”
With Kitara on his arm, Jagus led Diana through the enormous entranceway into the ballroom. It was a cavernous chamber, brightly lit with countless candles. The walls were adorned with carvings and bright frescoes, and the ceiling was so high that it seemed like a sky. A large orchestra was at the far end on a raised dais. As soon as they saw Diana enter behind Jagus and Kitara, they stopped and began playing “The March of the Giants”, the official anthem of the barons of Tirut.
Nehemus excused himself from the group he was chatting with and came forward to receive Diana. He smiled, and she gave him the half bow he was due.
“Welcome, welcome, Lady Death,” he said, his tone jovial. “I am so pleased you are able to join us this evening.”
“I wish to see you on business, Baron,” she replied. “But this ball will have to do. I hope you will be kind enough to give me a private audience in the course of the evening’s festivities.”
“Nothing would please me more, Lady Death.” He paused and appraised her for a moment from head to toe. “This is the first time I have seen you dressed for a ball. You must allow me to tell you how magnificent you look.”
Diana gave him one of her characteristic smiles—one that did not reach her pale eyes.
“You are too kind, sir.”
Nehemus crooked his finger, and a steward appeared with a tray laden with silver tumblers of finest Brigon apple wine from East Brosia.
“To the alliance between Tirut and the Zon Sisterhood,” he said. “A partnership of equals.”
“To our alliance based on mutual respect and trust,” responded Diana.
They touched tumblers and drank. After a few more moments of formal conversation, Nehemus excused himself to circulate among his numerous guests. As soon as he departed, Kitara contrived to bring Greghar and Nitya forward. She poked Jagus, and he stepped up to Diana, uncomfortable under her daunting stare.
“Lady Death, we would like to present some of our noble guests, Lord Greghar, nephew of King Lothar of Utrea and Nitya, lady-in-waiting to Her Highness, Queen Lovelyn.”
Greghar and Nitya stepped forward as they were introduced. Nitya curtsied daintily, demonstrating that she was on the mend from Guttanar’s beating. She had ingeniously managed to cover her cuts with makeup. She wore a new gown cobbled together by the hands of the Darling Thoma from the odds and ends of a dozen different fabrics. The seamen had done themselves proud and it was a creditable effort that hung and fell well. To the noblewomen at the ball, it was still just a collection of rags, but Nitya wore it with such serenity and grace that the whispers that arose as she entered the grand ballroom soon died away.
Greghar bowed formally. Diana smiled at them both, and this time a hint of amusement lit up her eyes.
“To use the old cliché, we meet again.”
“I hardly recognize you, Lady Death,” said Greghar. “This is a side of you that I have never seen.”
“You know each other?” asked Kitara, astonished.
“I have known both Nitya and Greghar Nibellus since they were children,” Diana replied. “Greghar and I are such good friends that I once scarred his handsome face with my dagger.”
Greghar smiled as she went on.
“Wasn’t that fun, Greghar? Perhaps tonight we may do a different sort of dance.”
“We certainly cannot fight, Lady Death,” he responded. “For you seem to have forgotten your sword.”
Kitara did not relish this rather familiar exchange. Conscious of Jagus by her side, she fought her temptation to compete with Diana for Greghar’s notice.
“I am pleased to bring old friends together,” she said. She looked at Diana thinking, Surely her air of self-sufficiency and arrogance must negate her beauty; strong and desirable men want women they can be protective of.
Kitara was about to draw Greghar and Nitya away under the pretext of introducing them to some other important guests, when the orchestra stopped. Before she could open her mouth, Trianus va Alsor, her brother-in-law and heir to the barony of Tirut, stepped onto the dais and clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.
“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen! The time has come to begin the night’s festivities. I call on my dear father to come forward to cut the cake and say a few words.”
No sooner had Trianus stopped speaking than Nehemus was at Kitara’s side, putting a hand on her elbow.
“I pray that you will spare Kitara to cut the cake and then open the ball with me,” he said to Jagus. He turned to the others. “This is the first ball I have attended since the passing of my dear wife. As a lonely widower, I must depend on the kindness of my sons to meet my social obligations.”
“Of course, my lord,” said Jagus. He did not sound particularly enthusiastic, but yielded his place by Kitara’s side.
“You do me great honor, my lord,” Kitara said, curtseying deeply. As she accepted Nehemus’s arm, her expression was an arch mixture of deference and playfulness. She walked the fine line perfectly, stoking Nehemus’s desires while remaining within the bounds of propriety. But unseen by anyone else, she shot Greghar a suggestive look over her shoulder as they left.
Jagus did not linger long and soon left to continue his duties as a host. Recognized as Lothar’s nephew, Greghar had become one of the most highly ranked guests at the ball. It would be insulting to his hosts to stand through the opening dance. He knew that his duty was to Nitya and was on the point of asking her for the honor of her hand, when a familiar voice interrupted them.
“Lady Death, I am delighted to find you here,�
� said Horus Matalus, appearing through the crowds. Diana turned to him in surprise and he saw her full form, unobstructed by other guests. He stared open-mouthed for a moment before continuing. “Why, you are a vision, a goddess come to life.”
Diana grinned at him with genuine pleasure and pounded him on the shoulder pad of his ceremonial tunic. He staggered under the force of her friendly wallop.
“Horus, my old friend!” she said. “I hear your father has finally raised you from cheval to baron.”
“True, true, when we last met in Firsk, I had the fiefdom, but not the title,” said Horus. He glanced over at Greghar before going on. “I often think of the time we spent together in the Morning Room of the Gray Fort, for it is such a pleasant memory.”
“I recall a much earlier time in Firsk,” returned Diana. “Our first meeting when I gave you this.”
She reached forward and ran a long finger down Horus’s cheekbone, tracing a thin white scar. She allowed her finger to linger on his face possessively. Horus reached up, and covered her hand with his. She smiled, and allowed him to squeeze it.
“Lady Death, I will do anything—”
“I wonder at you, Horus!” His wife, Baroness Talia, appeared out of the crowd with two retainers, young men from noble Karsk families. “Seeking out and socializing with this whore of the Evil One! Have you forgotten how much pain she has inflicted on our families?”
Talia looked at Diana with hatred in her eyes. Her open display of venom surprised Horus, and he looked from his wife to Diana, unsure of how to proceed.
“So what brings you down to Tirut?” Diana asked to fill the awkward silence.
“Talia and I were visiting her cousins in East Brosia,” responded Horus eagerly. “An express messenger arrived from her sister, Queen Esme, announcing the death of King Harald. As you know, the queen is here in Tirut with the Royal Black regiment, so we came down to condole with her. She is still in mourning, so she asked me to attend the ball to represent her. I am a baron, but I represent the crown!”
The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2) Page 26